As my fingertips made contact with the doorknob,
the long corridor behind me fell away,
brick by brick, piece by piece. 
I was floating in space.

The beautiful, eternal abyss of space
was forming all around me.
Nebula, stars and galaxies came rolling into view,
as I soared through the dark.  

Then a spiral shaped milky blotch came into view.
My heart skipped a beat
Not for the splendour.
Not for the size.
But because I saw a particularly bright star in the milky blotch, and I knew it was our star.

Our Sun.

I glided towards it then to our earth,
I saw oceans and forests,
deserts and glens,
plains and mountains.

But as I looked closer,
I saw islands of plastic,
ugly brown patches where the rainforest once was,
cities and towns engulfing the once wild places
and cars and factories billowing gas into the sky,
I cried.

I was back in the corridor. 

I somehow came to that door again, it appeared where my kitchen door once was.
It was the middle of the night when I found it,
as I was raiding the fridge,
it appeared to be the normal door,
and I only realised that it wasn’t when the house fell apart.

Instead of being far away from earth,
I was right there on top of it this time. 
I soared around the earth,
but something was different. 

I had spent so much time in the geography class,
I knew what the earth would look like.
I realised with a shock;
I had travelled to the future. 
I knew this because all the continents had moved. 

As I glided toward the earth,
I noticed something else had changed,
there were no islands of plastic,
no ugly brown patches,
the cities and towns had stopped growing,
and there were no cars or factories spewing out gas.

We had changed.
For the better. 
 

By Robert Grant